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The gates to the Kasuga mansion were opened. Not by the matriarch coming home after hours of negotiations for who would own what in separation, not by a teenager sneaking out to get a single moment to himself, not by a younger child who'd learned to pick locks so she could finally stand out from her twin.
No, the person opening the gates tonight was much more akin to a now stranger than a familiar presence.
This visit had been planned for some time; a spare key had been used to enter the property after all.
---
Heather was born at the start of her parents' marriage. She wonders if that's where it all went wrong.
Perhaps it was why they were more focused on their own work.
Perhaps it was why they had always hired babysitters and nannies when she was young.
Perhaps it was why they always seemed happier around her younger siblings.
Perhaps it was why, at 7 years old, Heather had been expected to pick up behind them.
---
The still, pearly white corridor stood, empty as usual these days. It's structure oozed a putrid sense of familiarity, any positive associations rotted away by time.
The clacking of heels serve as the only source of noise breaking the omnipresent quiet. The visitor's eyes glazed over the expensive paintings lining the walls, as they had walked along those a thousand times by now. Wasn't what they were looking for anyway.
They stopped in their tracks. If you turned to the left, you would've seen the object of their interest: a door, with a simple yet elegant golden handle.
---
If her parents taught Heather anything, it was that being underhanded was necessary to get what she wanted.
If her teachers taught Heather anything, it was that work was necessary to get what she wanted.
If her peers taught Heather anything, it was that earnestness was punished.
If all three had taught Heather anything...
It was to always blame something for her troubles, but never the true culprit.
---
The room our visitor had stepped foot in was one of the less opulent ones in the house; The expensive and personal items had long been taken out, an original from Piet Mondrian remained on display. (It was one of the less expensive pieces, of course.) All that remained of it's previous owner were mannequins holding dusty, but well cared for wigs with much longer hair than theirs, and a picture of said owner.
They were truly a stranger to this room now.
Despite the warm season, the bedroom had never felt so cold before.
---
Oh, blame. Heather was familiar with blame. Pointing fingers and claiming the source of a problem, even if it wasn't the root of it.
Even if it wasn't an issue in the first place.
For the cold shoulders, the ostracization, the double standards of forgiveness and every negative feeling she'd ever felt, there was always something to blame.
First it was fat, then hobbies, then clothing, then even colors.
But never her parents.
If being a target was her own fault, then it was her peers' faults for being naive enough to be taken advantage of. Their faults for having loose lips, talking behind eachother's backs, never saying what they mean.
They were all the same in this social game, and she was going to be the best, just as she had been in her ballet classes that molded her muscles and her academics that dictated her grades.
---
Before long, our visitor got out of their temporary pause, and started looking through every drawer for any items they had left behind. All the knickknacks they had collected behind everyone's back, the glitter pens they had loved, all of it shoved inside the large bags they had brought with them on this expedition.
Glancing at the fluffy pink blanket resting under the long unused bed, they hesitate before grabbing it, gently rubbing the dust off of it's surface. Added it to the collection of items they were bringing back with them.
The walls are large enough to cover any sound she could make now. They knew this. They had used this before their parents finally stopped pretending their alliance would last any longer.
It's only after truly looking at that old picture of themself that Heather let their composure slip. Knowing it would be the last time they'd willingly come back here.
---
And She'd taken that knowledge with her to Total Drama.
She'd heard about it thanks to listening in on one of the channels her mother had been watching, during the few hours she was home. It promised a Luxury resort experience, along with a competition to win a 100,000 dollars. Granted, it was canadian dollars, and her family was already rich...
But that money would be hers. And only hers. She could become a celebrity. And if it ever tanked, she could just forget it ever happened.
She certainly wasn't about to forget it ever happened now.
She failed twice to claim the prize - even when it was upped to a million and she'd lost everything she'd liked about herself - and wasn't awarded her deserved million once she had.
For the better part of a year and a half, she instead got to participate in the wonderful world of Tabloids, who were both better than her at the blame game while being more vicious than her classmates. Picking apart any and all of her actions, her words, her looks...
She gladly took any opportunity to turn that gaze away. Why else would Heather spend so much time on a blog online, anyway? If her infamy wouldn't allow her a Talk-show, then she'd carve one out herself, like she always had.
She'll do it on her own, and she'll let every single one of her sharp edges and every ounce of her anger drive her.
---
If letting any remaining feeling about this place out meant crying their eyes out, Heather will gladly take it. If only it meant they wouldn't need to visit this place again.
They pulled a tissue packet out of the pocket of their shorts. They had planned this visit after all, this possibility.
No one was watching, not anymore. Their computer had long since left this room.
They inched forwards, gently took the framed picture of their teenage self off of the wall...
...And opened the top drawer of their cupboard, slipping the picture in and quickly closed it. No need to break another reflection of themselves. Tiredness can be explained away, but injury cannot.
---
Anger is a great motivator. It just doesn't last forever.
It never lasted long enough for Heather, at the very least. Always needed a new source to function. Sure, Total Drama as a show provided her ample sources, but the problem with feeding that fire was that it was so, so easy to get burnt yourself.
She wasn't the only one in this game after all. She wasn't the only one on that trash fire of a show, that took more than it gave, at every level. She wasn't winning, even when she reached First Place, because she wasn't given her reward on the show, or given a single break from Tabloids afterwards.
She wasn't winning when it was others who were offering her connection, despite all they knew. Despite how they had interacted in the past. Despite how much she'd push, desperate to not fall out of the one way she'd functioned all her life.
Despite how much that way of functioning had lost her.
...But god she was tired of loosing.
---
Heather closes their old bedroom's door one last time, leaving it's key in the doorhole.
She doubts her parents will notice her absence will be longer than a semester. Much longer.
They're too busy with their jobs, their reputation, their perfect twins and younger son, their sports cars and luxury bags and divorce settlements and appearances to care about the eldest "daughter" they always shunned.
...If they continue this way, they'll surely loose their other children too.
Oh well. It won't be Heather's problem by then. They have their own life to sort out now, and their own home to return to.